


Troubled Minds

by Experiment413



Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Past Brainwashing, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 14:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15632307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experiment413/pseuds/Experiment413
Summary: Andor can't sleep.[Also a vent fic.]





	Troubled Minds

**Author's Note:**

> Some vent fic, pulled from my personal experience with having PTSD. It sucks.
> 
> Takes place during the Urulu-based segments of The Clear Sky Hermit.
> 
> Chimalus tested, Chimalus approved.

Andor slammed the door, fell into the bed, covering his head in the blankets and blanking out for a second. The uncomfortable noise of struggling pistons stopped. His back didn’t relax.

 

He tried not to think for a minute, the silence killing him, but his thoughts killing him faster. He threw the blankets off his head and sat up. It was too hot.

 

And he sat like that for a minute or ten, trying to block it out. The silence would just make it worse, though, because then he could hear the thoughts. He could feel them.

 

Then he fell back into the bed, curling somewhat uncomfortably, laying his head on the pillow. Too frustrated with his own head. Too frustrated with his own fear.

 

The thoughts talked like muttering and too bright lights and the taste of iron. He bit a scab off his lip and only made it worse. Like eyes glazing over in a daze, like people who talk too much, like the subtle signs of starvation.

 

The people in his head talked too big a game, argued about things too quietly or too loudly, no inbetweens, and he could never get sleep, not as long as it was there. He was unconscious for a second, or he remembered being.

 

The memories were vivid, but they came to blend together into sore spots of color and noise and feeling. They overstimulated. Another noise of a piston, and Andor moved his left shoulder.

 

He couldn’t describe this kind of thing. He couldn’t tell a story about it. He’d choke, it would blend, and no one would think of it the way he did.

 

It wasn’t just the Inertia that stuck out either, it was minor things, inconveniences and the minor bad treatments. It was conversations in Castle Dagrun and moments of the bare minimum of consciousness and _OW!_

 

The pain in the back of his head was back, the line of dull hurt running from his left ear to the middle of the back of his head. He knew it wasn’t migraines, but remnants of bad memories. His back came next, and he uncomfortably shifted to try to relax it again, and buried his face in the pillow.

 

Days spent in silence, spent barely alive, spent trying to ignore. They talked a big game, something they couldn’t achieve through peaceful means. They achieved by tearing apart and chasing and creating panic.

 

Andor huffed, rolled over, and looked at the ceiling. He was back to reality, for now. “Flashbacks…” he muttered, staring at the dull tan ceiling above him. This wasn’t there. This was similar to that. A bit more of his mind ached, trying not to think too much about it.

 

He layin the hotel room bed for a few more minutes. He watched the sun rays through the window, listened to the normal noises of the room, felt the strangely textured bedsheets between his fingers.

He was back. Maybe not for long. This kind of stuff was unavoidable. It always came back.

 

“It’s over now. You’ll be fine.”

He didn’t believe himself in saying that.


End file.
